Rewriting History
by erhea
Summary: After loosing to The Capitol, the surviving rebels devise a plan to change the course of history. This is their story. AU. Rated T just because I can.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, as much as I would love to. My stories do not pursue getting any gratification from such an activity. All rights belong to Her Lady and Master, Suzanne Collins whose brilliant mind came up with Peeta and Katniss. The awesomeness of it all still astounds me.**

"General Everdeen?"

The door to my chamber opens, as Alma Coin's sharp voice carries through the permanent darkness, a morbid but nevertheless faithful companion these last few months.

"Yes."

"It's time."

I rise from my chair, looking at the person standing in front of me.

Time has not been very kind with the face of the woman I now know for more than ten years. Her eyes that once had the unnerving ability to see straight to my soul are sad and full of concern. Their color, once seen as slush, is barely visible anymore as all attention is drawn to the dark purplish circles beneath and to the folds around. Her hair is no longer framing her angular face but hidden by the green beret she took up wearing several years ago. Only her mouth and voice retain the same unyielding mien that reminds me of the iron woman I met after being saved from The Quell.

Aren't we all different? Aren't we all changed?

Survival of the fittest. That's what the old books say, I at what cost?

The taste of these words is bitter. Almost like roses. Like Snow. The Games. The Victors that kill in order to win and by winning they lose it all.

I shake my head, clenching my teeth in frustration. There is no point on continuing with this train of thought.

Alma Coin.

The woman with a will of steel. Fearless leader of what once was District 13, now presides over ruins and a handful of still surviving rebels.

And me, the once upon a time face of the revolution.

Amazing how I never expected for us to grow on each other.

It took five years for us to put our differences aside.

It took two more years for us to trust each other and start working as a team.

Unfortunately, by that time, there was no rebellion to lead. Only ashes, and smoke, and death, and ruins of what once was a dream.

District by district, all fell to the clutch of the Capitol. Districts 12 and 13 were erased from the face of the Earth. First by bombs, then by fire and in the end by mutts. Heinous creatures with eyes of our loved ones, that still roam the ashes above. Always searching for thirsting for blood.

All hope was lost. Or that's what we thought.

The first ray of light that pierced our perceived darkness came several years ago. It was an idea, aninsaneidea that became our last resort. Beetee's experiments with the force field and his incursions in old physics book, written by some ancestor named Einstein, gave birth to a theory that could bend time and space. The question that needed an answer was how to send the essence of someone (if spirits do indeed exist) into the past and merge it with its past self. Thus, operation Mockingjay was born.

And now, the moment is here, and I find the palms of my hand sweaty again from anticipation. I feel my chest constricting and my breath coming in and out, in short, controlled gasps, while my hand tightens on the gun holster that encircles my hips.

Alma Coin loses her composure for one second, pity flashing through her grey eyes.

She takes one step closer. A moment later, ever so suddenly, she steadies herself, and in her most icy tone, she sneers.

"Enough! Get your act together Everdeen. This is not some fucking pity party."

She is right.

"I know." My answer is curt and strong.

She is right.

I am no longer the weak, frightened, impressionable girl that fought for her life in the Hunger Games.

I am no longer the girl from the Seam, daughter of a coal miner.

I am no longer just KatnissEverdeen.

I am the Mockinjay, leader of the Rebellion.

And I shall conquer this.

Resolution, hatred and sheer determination runs through my veins as I take one step closer to President Coin. I nod once, in thanks, as words between us are hardly ever needed anymore.

We go through the deserted corridors of what once was the headquarters of District 13.

The destruction and the rotten smell of death persist, an everlasting putrid reminder of the ultimate bombing from so long ago.

The debris was never cleared, the buildings never repaired.

Whatever for?

Cleaning it would not help us remember. Cleaning it would not make the wholes from our hearts fuller. Cleaning it would not bring the lost one's home. Or back to life.

All this destruction, in time, became a shrine. The wind composed its own anthem while carrying the ashes away, caressing the ruins, clothing them in dust and flecks of grey.

As we reachwhat remains of Beetee's lab, my hand hesitantly goes to my pocket, where my fingers curl on the worn surface of what once was a promise. A single, beautiful, white worn pearl.

"Coin, Everdeen", Beetee nods, voice cracked and tired. "I calibrated the force fields and set the time. We have sixty seconds from when it will start compressing."

I silently take my place, in the round crystal compartment, situated in the middle of the room.

"I will follow you Commander, if by the end of it we still stand!"

Coin flashes me a real and altogether rare smiles while sealing the entrance and leaving me alone.

Her voice fills the soundproof space.

"Sixty, fifty nine, fifty eight, fifty seven…"

My vision blurs as long repressed memories start rushing back.

"Fifty. Forty nine, forty eight…."

I see a small girl, petting the world's ugliest cat, a sweet smile on her lips, sun playing in her golden locks.

I find my lungs constricting as panics settles in. Is this going to work? Am I going to die?

"Thirty three, thirty two, thirty…"

I see blue eyes, ashy blond hair and a warm and beautiful smile.

Death should be a blessing, a release I will gladly embrace should this fail.

I smile.

"Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…"

The woods, the meadow, the lake, the mokingjay pin, the dandelion in the spring, a burnt bread.

My smile does not falter.

"Two, one!"

And all I see and feel is darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I just like to play with it.**

**AN: Constructive criticism is as always highly appreciated. Please forgive my grammar and spelling mistakes, as there are plenty of them, considering that English is not my first language. Ironically, I use several spellcheckers but they always seem to fail me. Enjoy the story, and… May the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor!**

"Primrose Everdeen"

Effie Trinket's voice rings clear, caressing each vowel in the unmistakable Capitol way.

As the confusion slowly melts away, I watch with horror as my sister tucks the back of her blouse inside her skirt. Clenching her fists in a tight grip, she walks, slowly, bravely, towards the stage.

I register in the back of my mind the unhappy mutterings of the crowd. This always happens when a twelve year old is 'graced' with the 'honor' to represent the district in the Games. No one could easily accept this. Be it Merchant or Seam. The reaping made us all equal in the eyes of Fate.

When was the last time I saw my sister? Back in District 13, in the hospital, while I was strapped to a bed and given morphling, day in and day out? Before the Quell? Longer than that? The sister I almost died for, came back to and then abandoned, when life felt no longer worth living. I do not remember her ever being so vibrant, so colorful, and so full of life.

As the Peacekeepers approach, leading her to the steps of the stage, my body suddenly remembers the ability to move. My throat clenches, throbs and then aches as a startled cry leaves my now dried up lips.

"Prim!"

I take several steps forward.

"Prim!"

No one stands in my way. The crowds formed by children part for me as I rush to keep her safe.

I reach Prim as she was ready to mount the steps and I roughly push her behind me.

"I volunteer!" I say, voice laced with desperation.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

I can feel the thick confusion in the air.

District 12 was never known for having any volunteers. Here, to volunteer is unthinkable. It is a death sentence. An execution.

"Wonderful" cries Effie Trinket. "What a lovely turn of events, ladies and gentlemen! District's 12 very first volunteer!" she cheerfully carries on.

A small smile escapes my lips as I remember the bubbly, hyper, dedicated Capitol woman that joined the rebels and died so many years ago. The determined and passionate woman that hid behind the façade of a shallow and proper Capitol escort.

Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly feel Prim's arms embracing me from behind. She hysterically cries and yells, refusing to let me go.

"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

I steel myself, and with a harsh voice I manage to address her.

"Let me go! Go find mom Prim! Go!"

Pushing her roughly behind, never glancing back, I clench my fists and climb the stairs.

"I bet my hat that was your sister!"

"Yes."

"What is your name, dear?"

My voice rings clear and steady across the still horrified faces of the inhabitants of District 12.

"Katniss Everdeen."

I keep my eyes fixed on some other place than the crowds below. The silence irks me, filling me with dread.

Back in 13, silence was never a good omen. Or at least that's what they told me.

Silence always precedes a storm. Everything was silent before the bombing that took so many from us. Everything was silent before the fire burnt everything to ash. Everything was silent again before they sent in the mutts.

I remember the panic, the dread, the utter devastation I felt while tasting the bitter grey flecks that danced through the air a dance of death. I remember how the world fell once again while I realized, then and there, that those flecks were once a young blonde healer, with shining blue eyes.

The same silence embraced me once more.

"And now, for the boys!"

I feel the blood draining from my face.

I watch as her polished fingernails enter the ball that contain the slips with names and close my eyes waiting for the unavoidable to happen.

"Peeta Meelark."

My head snaps immediately towards him, searching through the crowd, drinking him in. He walks towards the stage. Steadily. He is the same, just as I remember him. Stocky built, medium height, ashy blond hair that falls in waves over his forehead. His face and blue eyes betray the shock of being reaped. I can tell that he tries to hide his emotions, not to appear weak, taking his place on the stage.

His eyes meet mine. They soften for a moment, full of love, regret and sadness, before turning into a look of sheer determination.

I feel my carefully constricted walls crumble by the siege of so many emotions. Emotions I no longer felt for far too long. Disbelief, sorrow, joy, pain, regret, devotion, tenderness and above them all, love.

I do not realize I am crying until I find it very hard to breathe as my throat ties itself in knots.

I shake my head, biting my lower lip, and wipe my face with my hands. I do not care that my actions might make me appear as boy with the bread has always been my undoing.

I hear Effie clear her throat, eyebrows raised in surprise, her twinkling blue eyes set upon me.

"Do you know each other?" she inquires, tilting her head to her right.

I glare, not in the mood to answer this question.

Her eyebrows furrow and then she starts saying something, but gets interrupted when Haymitch bumps into her.

"I like this one" he slurs, breath reeking of alcohol. "She's got…. She's got…." He continues, stumbling on the stage, trying to get a point across. The rest does not follow, as he falls flat on his face.

But this was enough to get her distracted.

"What an exciting day" she giggles behind her hand, straightening with the other her wig. An useless effort to salvage some appearance.

I quickly avert my eyes from her and turn them to the crowds, where I easily spot Peeta's family. I cannot help myself but give them an icy glare. None of his two older brothers volunteers to take his place. His mother seems unaffected by the prospect of losing her youngest son. I bitterly realize that, as always, there is no such thing as family during the Reaping Day. I… I was the exception.

I do not dare look at Peeta, but I listen in the background as Mayor Undersee starts reading the long Treaty of Treason. He does this every year, before handling innocents to the Peacekeepers. Children sent to the Arena to be slaughtered as a reminder, as a punishment, for those who dared long ago to rebel against the Capitol.

Moments later, as the anthem of Panem plays, we turn our heads towards the crowd.

There are not so many things that I am allowed to change in order to reshape the future. I must play my part on a scene I abhor. But there are two things I can do. Repair my past mistakes and keep all those I love safe. Safe and alive. Even if it's the last thing I do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Not mine, but can I please, please, pretty please keep Peeta? **

**Please forgive my grammar and spelling mistakes as spellcheckers seem to fail me. I use several of them but I never manage to get it right.**

**Constructive criticism is as always highly appreciated as I always try to improve my writing. **

**Concerning this story, things are going to get AU soon enough, as Katniss will fail in maintaining the timeline unchanged. You'll just have to bear with me and see. Cheers!**

ℓ **erhea**

After the last notes of the anthem slowly fade to silence, a group of Peacekeepers take Peeta and me into custody.

They took us to the Justice Building, pushing me into a chamber and leaving me alone. The same room as before, were I had to say my goodbyes.

Oh, if they only knew.

The rich decorated chamber, with thick carpets and velvet covered chairs helps me relax.

This is real.

Beetee's contraption worked.

I cannot afford to lose myself in the past and betray the changes that I suffered.

I look in the silver framed mirror and smile at the image that greets me. My face is no longer burned, nor scarred. Gone are the reminders of war and lost and death. Only my eyes are sorrowful, harder, and wiser than they should be. Am I that different? Am I that changed? Wasn't I always different from others? Would mom, or Prim notice that I am not the same Katniss they knew? Would they look into my eyes and just _see me_?

My sister and mother are the first to appear.

As in a long lost dream, I open my arms to Prim and she embraces me eagerly, as she always did. My mother takes a seat beside me and her arms encircle us both. For several moments none of us utters a word.

"You can sell Lady's milk and cheese." I begin, not giving them time to fall apart beneath my eyes.

"Perhaps Gale will be able to bring you some game" I look into Prim's puffy red eyes.

I hope that our old arrangement still stands. Long ago we swore that if anything happened to the other, the one that would survive will take care of the families left behind.

"Don't take any tessare. It's not worth it."

She nods, resting her head on my shoulder.

I turn to look at my mother.

"I know that this is hard on you" I begin, my voice surprisingly soft. She startles, her watery blue eyes finding the floor.

"I know that since dad died we…"

"Katniss…" Her voice is strangled, full of pain and misery.

"Let me finish" I plead, my voice carrying softly across the room. "I know that since dad died you felt that the world was no longer worth living. I know and I understand..." my voice falters. My hand, rough and callused, from days spent in the woods, from snares and bows and strings and arrows, finds hers and clutch it in an unyielding grip. She flinches, closing eyes again, this time in guilt. "I know that he was your world, your lifeline, and that the world without him seemed unbearable, that even raising from the bed… Seeing him in us everyday… " I shake my head. After all this time, I am still unable to find the right word to express my feelings.

"What I mean… What I wanted to say is that I forgive you mom. For not being strong enough, for not being there. Because it's ok. We're ok."

"Katniss…. I…. I was ill. I…" she tries, her eyes pleading me to understand.

And I do. She will not abandon her; she will not lose herself again in sadness; she'll fight through this. For father. For me. For Prim.

"I know. I know you won't."

And for the first time, be it present and past, our eyes meet in complete understanding.

Prim looks at us, comprehension dawning in her eyes.

"I'll be alright Katniss, but you have to take care too. You can win this. Promise me you will try."

I kiss Prim's forehead, refusing to give an answer. As prepared as I am, I know without a doubt that there are no guarantees of me coming back. Each breath I take, each step I make, each decision can be a pebble thrown into a pound. Upsetting the habitat. Altering the future. Just like the wings of a butterfly. And, if by some twisted, cruel joke, it will come down to me and Peeta in the Arena, he would be the one returning home. I will always choose Peeta.

She is still waiting for a promise I cannot give when a Peacekeeper enters the door, signaling that our time is up. I hug them and tell them that I love them both. That I always will. And then I watch as they leave.

Another person comes in.

The baker, Peeta Mellark's father.

He awkwardly seats on a velvet chair and looks at me with sorrow. His hands tremble as he takes out a brown bag from his jacket pocket and gives it to me.

"Thank you" I whisper.

"I will make sure she is fed" his voice croaks, shoulders shaking and crumbling as if from a very heavy load.

"I know."

Though I know I should not say it, I cannot help but feel the need to give some comfort to the man that stands in front of me, falling apart with each shuddering breath. The man who's kindness shines through his son.

"I… I will bring Peeta home."

With a sharp move of his head, his teary eyes were on me, startled.

"Katniss, no! You can't! Not without you…" His voice breaks, in despair.

"He will… He will never forgive himself if he…"

"I know" I whisper.

I stand and inch closer, but am unable to say anything else, as the Peacekeeper returns.

Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, is next. Sweet, kind, beautiful Madge, killed in the bombing of District 12. She hands me the golden mokingjay pin her aunt, Maysilee Donner wore in the second Quarter Quell.

"Your pin?" I ask, surprise etched in my features.

"Promise me you'll wear it? In the arena? Promise?" She pleads.

She does not wait for an answer; she just leans in, fixing the golden broche to my dress. Above my heart.

"I will."

There are so many things I want to tell her. To thank her for her quiet and steady companionship throughout my childhood years. To tell her that I considered her my first friend. To give assurance that everything will be alright. That she will not share her aunt's fate. That she will be safe.

But I can't. And she leaves without another word.

And then, finally, there is Gale. I forgot about having to see him.

He opens his arms, but I refuse to join him in an embrace, shaking my head. Our friendship ended long ago. I know deep down that this is not the future Gale, blinded by rage and malice, but a more innocent one, not brought to madness by death, defeat and despair. But Gale has always had a… a fire within him. Burning deep inside of him... And honestly, I do not know how I feel about him anymore. Can I rekindle my friendship with him? Can I trust him again? Do I even want to?

"Katniss? Is something wrong?" he whispers worriedly, while taking a few steps towards me.

I try to hide my surprise and confusion at seeing him, but I cannot do it soon enough.

"Katniss?"

I sigh as I try to convince him that I am ok and that I know what I have to do. He does not seem convinced by this. He wants to say something else and I can see that he battles with himself to let it go.

"What about the baker boy?" he grimly asks.

I can feel my breath hitch. Was I that obvious?

"What about the baker boy?" I retort in a whisper. Not strong enough. Not convincingly enough as my voice quivers.

I could feel his eyes on me, trying to figure my emotions out. Was he already dissecting each sequence of today with his analytical sharp mind? What did he see? Did I even want to find out?

"Katniss, when they called his name..." he stubbornly continues his voice cautious, as if approaching a wounded animal. "When they called his name, you looked broken".

I jump at this, avoiding his scrutiny.

"You should go Gale" I whisper.

"You do not plan to get out of this alive, do you Catnip?" he insists, voice laced with sadness and resignation.

"You should go Gale" I repeat, more determined.

He nods, and with a whispered goodbye, he steps out of my room, my life, perhaps forever. And I do nothing. There is no regret.

The ride to the train station is short. I manage to appear somewhat impressed by the car that takes us there, but as I lift my eyes to the screens perched above and watch myself, I look expressionless, unmoving, cold as steel.

On the other hand, Peeta Mellark looks as if he has cried, and my heart constricts in my chest. I force myself to look away. I cannot bear to see him like this. Hopeless, lost. My heart aches to comfort him, to give assurance and relief, my fingers twitch to caress his golden locks. But now is not the time.

'Stick to the plan, Katniss. Stick to the friggin' plan' I silently argue with my heart, fighting the wave of emotions that threaten to overcome me.

We have to wait a few minutes in front of our train, for the cameras to take us in. As soon as we are allowed to go on board, the train leaves for the Capitol.

Effie Trinket comes to accompany me to dinner. I follow her through the corridor into the dining room and take a seat next to Peeta, my eyes fixed on the exquisite table in front.

As in a dream, I remember her crying in outrage 'THAT'S MAHOGANY' and my lips curl upwards into a smile.

There is only the three of us. Haymitch is missing. Again.

My eyes fall on the feast in front of me, and I serve myself with a little of everything, remembering the rich texture of the food served in the Capitol, that my sixteen year old body was not used to.

After enjoying the exquisite dinner, and yes, after eating the second part of it with my fingers, just to see Effie puff in frustration again, we watch the reaping.

I still remember them, the tributes of the 74th Huger Game. Glimmer, Marvel, Clove, Cato, Foxface, Rue, Tresh, and all the others are shown. Some volunteer, others are being called. I remember their deaths. And all I feel is not dread but sorrow. Finally, I watch, carefully, as Prim's name was called, and then I hear myself shouting her name. I hear the silence, I see the funeral salute I missed while trying to steel myself for Peeta's reaping. I see Haymitch stumbling, struggling for words and falling of the scene, again. I see myself breaking down as Peeta's name was called and I now see and understand what my mother, Gale, and all Panem saw. The horror etched in my face, the tears pouring down my cheeks, the gasp that I tried to stifle with my hands, the buckling of my knees.

A strong and rough hand grabs mine, slowly untangling my fingers from the material I unknowingly grasped and twisted as the scenes played, one by one. Peeta squeezes my hand. Once, twice, before letting it go. A small gesture of comfort, a reminder that I am not alone.

"Tut-tut. Your mentor has a lot to learn about how to behave himself during a broadcasted emission."

Effie breaks my revelation with her once more sunny disposition.

Peeta laughs.

"He was drunk" he says. "He does it every year"

"Every day" I say smiling.

"Yeeeess" she hisses "and he is supposed to keep you alive! Funny, isn't it? Your lives depend on him! "

And, precise as clockwork, Haymitch chooses that moment to enter the compartment, stumbling on his feet.

"Did I miss supper?" He slurs.

Not a moment later, he falls, emptying the contains of his stomach all over himself and on the carpet.

"So keep on laughing" says Effie Trinket over her shoulder, as she left the compartment, hopping in her pointy shoes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. I do not own the characters. I do not even own some of the dialogue. All of this belongs to Suzanne Collins and her brilliant mind.**

**As English is not my first language, please forgive my grammar and spelling mistakes. I am trying, nay struggling, very hard to get it right.**

**Reviews are highly appreciated. Constructive criticism always elates me.**

**Read and enjoy!**

ℓ **erhea**

The unofficial town drunk, sole surviving victor of District 12, my unknowingly third time mentor, is currently splayed on his torso, his blonde head resting in a pool of yellowish vomit.

Peeta is on my right side, his mouth set in a hard line, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"She is right, you know. He is supposed to get one of us home."

I tilt my head to the right, looking at the broken man that found solace in a bottle of alcohol.

"Do you think he is alright?" he asks, moments later.

Instantaneously, the answer comes from the man himself, in the form of a deep and noisy rumble that made the yellowish pool underneath him vibrate.

"Is he… Is he actually snoring?" I ask half amused, half exasperated. The rumble only gets louder.

Peeta shakes his head, barely holding his laughter in.

I look around the room, trying to find something that could help me wake up my old mentor, when I see it. It's perfect. I gleefully take the flower pot from the previously vacated table, remove the flowers from it, and drop its contents on Haymitch.

He jumps straight up, body tense, muscles stretched in alarm, a crazed look in his eyes. In the flash of a second his hand goes to his boots and then he swings a knife at us, slashing through the air.

"Huh?" he splutters.

Eloquent as always. A purely Haymitch reaction.

"You… You…." He continues pointing his knife at me while glaring.

I cross my hands on my chest, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, me…" I reply, my tone dry and unimpressed.

He wobbles on his feet, reaching with his free hand for the wall.

"You little shit! How dare you!" he spits, droplets of stale water getting into his eyes and mouth.

I glare, an insult on the tip of my lips, when Peeta intervenes, hands raised, in an attempt to stop the situation from getting out of hand.

"Let's just calm down and get you to your room. Clean you up a little bit."

Haymitch shakes his head, mumbles something under his breath, before sheathing his knife back into his boots. He takes several deep breaths, releases the wall and starts to slowly walk towards his own room.

I share a glance with Peeta.

"He will be just fine." I state matter-of-factly, noticing his worried eyes.

"We should go to sleep." He suggests.

I feel the warmth speeding up my neck, my ears and finally settling in my cheeks. I cannot help but think of the nights spent in his embrace during the Victory Tour.

"Yeah" I lamely reply, eyes glued to the floor. I practically have to will my body to move towards my room.

Later, dressed in satin pajamas, I sit on the bad, eyes closed, unable to fall asleep. Time passes slowly, as my mind wonders, remembering the past and the costly price all of us paid to get here.

After having been saved from the Quarter Quell, I was taken to District 13. I woke up in a hospital room screaming for Peeta. Haymitch's familiar voice answered, informing me that he was captured by the Capitol. Oh, how I hated him for not keeping his promise, for not honoring our agreement. I remember ripping out the tubes from my hands and lunging at him, trying to claw his eyes out. The copperish smell of blood that filled my nostrils did not manage to satiate the thirst for the blood I craved to be spilt. I vaguely remember finding out about the bombing of our district and how relived I felt, in my selfishness, that Prim was here, alive, in 13. I remember meeting Coin and begging her on my knees to save Peeta and how her harsh refusal killed all hope I had left. I felt broken, lost. But nothing, nothing, compared to the moment I saw them kill my boy with bread, a month later, during national mandatory television hours.

Ironic how we do not realize how much we love someone until that person is gone from our lives. Peeta's death made me finally sort out my feelings and realize that it had always been him. Peeta and me? We were as easy as breathing; he was my dandelion in the spring.

His death hit me hard. I do not remember much from the first couple years after collapsing in front of the TV. They told me I tried to take my life several times before I became catatonic with grief. They told me the revolution started dying the moment Peeta Mellark was lost to Katniss Everdeen.

They came in day by day, for the first several months. Some, more than others, but in the end they all stopped. I've seen the tapes. I've seen myself standing on the hospital bed, morphling and nutrients pumped through an IV, hands restrained, tied to the bed. I've seen my eyes empty, staring into nothingness, not even realizing they were there. I was, for all intent and purpose, dead.

I've seen him, Gale, my supposedly best friend; give up after only two weeks. At the time the screens revealed the ugly truth; I could not help but think that Peeta would have never left me. Not willingly. Not without a fight.

"_I was never your choice, was I? Goodbye Catnip."_

My mother was next. She talked to me for several months, barring her soul, trying to justify her actions, telling me stories of my father, asking for forgiveness I was unable to grant. When the last flicker of hope died in the doctor's eyes, when it became too much to bear for her fragile mind, she kissed my forehead and left, never to come back. I might have looked like my father on the outside, but I was my mother's daughter after all.

"_I'm so sorry Katniss but I can't… I can't watch you fade away… I…"_

Haymitch visited only once. He never said a word, but watched me from a corner, eyes full of sorrow, body racked with sobs, while taking long gulps from his flask. He put a bullet through his brains that evening.

Finnick, Johanna and Beetee never entered my room. Not even once. They always watched from the outside. All three of them at the beginning. Then two. And in the end only one remained.

"_It wasn't all for show, was it?"_

"_Wake up brainless! Fight it off, for Chris's sake!"_

"_It's our fault…"_

"_We were not good enough…"_

"_Forgive us brainless, we did not know…"_

"_All is lost."_

Prim was always there. Strong and kind. Washing my hair, holding my hand, singing me the lullabies I used to sing to her in her infancy. She never lost hope, she never stopped believing in me, until the day she died.

"_Deep in the meadow, under the willow  
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow  
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes  
And when again they open, the sun will rise._

_Here it's safe, here it's warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm  
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you._

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away  
A cloak of leaves, A moonbeam ray  
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay  
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away._

_Here it's safe, here it's warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm  
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you.__ "_

It took several years for me to be able to get a grip of myself and reality, while wearing the 'mental disordered' bracelet and going through daily therapy. It took the fall of District 11 and the destruction of District 13, and the death of my sister for me to feel anything apart of desolation and sadness, and grief.

The day I discovered anger, was the day Beetee and Coin saved me from the destruction of the last rebel facility. I was enraged that they did not let me die. I tried to strangle Coin with my bare hands. She grabbed my wrists, looked straight in my eyes and in a very Haymitch tone she told me "Sweetheart, that's what I was waiting for".

With anger came determination, and a deep thirst for revenge.

Only a handful of rebels survived, and then, we started to train to fight another day.

Two years later the Mockingjay Operation was conceived, and we begun to plan the change of the world.

Light starts to fill into the compartment, and I hear the unmistakable voice of Effie Trinket telling me to prepare myself for a new day.

"Up, up, up! It's a going to be a big, big, big day!"

I snort. Same old effervescent Effie. Thank God some things never change.

I put my mother's blue dress back on and I unbraid my hair, letting it flow in curls down my back.

As I enter the dining car, I see Effie passing by with a hot of steaming coffee in her hands. My mouth waters at the sight of the black and bitter drink I favor. Coffee was an addiction I picked up while planning with Coin.

I take a seat next to Peeta, ignoring the glass with hot chocolate and going straight for the cup with coffee steaming on the table. Haymitch doesn't drink coffee. At all.

I hum to myself while I take a sip of the black drink my mother adores, and ignore Haymitch's risen eyebrows. I avoid a rich breakfast, going for the bowl filled to brim with ripped fruits.

"You have your drink of choice and now I have mine." I scathingly say, while taking another sip and closing my eyes in content.

He smirks, while raising his glass in mock approval.

"You are supposed to give us advice," I nonchalantly tell him.

"Here's one. Stay alive." And then he bursts out laughing.

I glance at Peeta and notice the resignation in his blue eyes. He suddenly jerks his hand, grabs Haymitch's glass and throws it on the floor. I see the older man tense, raising his hand, and before I can even understand what I am about to do, I grab his hand, twist it and slam it on the table, while I dig a knife with my other between his fingers.

Utter shock. Not even Effie Trinket dares to speak a word. Part of me is amused of finally succeeding to silence the hyper woman.

"So I have a pair of fighters this year!" he exclaims, more lively than ever before.

"What can you do?" he asks Peeta.

"Nothing" he replies, shrugging. "I can bake and frost".

"Peeta is strong." I say, while taking another sip of my still warm black coffee. "He can lift a heavy sack of flour with ease. Also, he came second after his older brother in last year's wrestling competition".

"And that is supposed to help me how? I cannot wrestle the other tributes to death!"

"Do not underestimate yourself. You have a chance", I insisted.

"Katniss is good with a bow. My father always trades for her squirrels. She shoots them straight through the eye."

Suddenly, Haymitch interferes, clearing his throat and putting a stop to what became a praising contest.

"All right. What's going on between you two? Is there something you want to tell me?" he inquires, while looking at us, in turns.

This is the longest combination of words I have heard from him since the reaping, and they are spot on.

"Uhh… I… No! I mean… We…. I…." Peeta babbles, at a loss of words.

"Peeta and I are friends" I step in, taking pity of his embarrassment.

He startles, turns towards me and his blue eyes bore into mine, searching, looking for something. He must have found it, because he smiles, and this is the first sincere, full, wide, beaming smile I've seen him give since the reaping. It makes my stomach flutter and I cannot help but return the gesture in kind.

"If that's what you kids call it nowadays." Our mentor snorts in retort, while trying but failing to hide his own amusement.

"Stay away from my drink and I will remain sober enough to help you. Do we have a deal?"

We nod, relieved to finally reach an understanding.

"And here's an advice for you. Do what your stylists say." Haymitch grumbles while taking another sip of something that oddly looks like water.

The train suddenly slows down, and I see Peeta going to the window, waving to the Capitol citizens. I hear them shouting, pointing at the training, excited to early spot a tribute. My stomach recoils. These artificial beings, with bizarre hair and painted faces, that do not know what life truly means outside their gilded golden cage, are eager to see us dead. They are hardly human anymore.

"Who knows? One of the might be rich."

I hid my smile behind the coffee cup.

We are here, in the Capitol, the place where all roads end.

Suddenly my smile grows so big that it practically hurts.

Cinna.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own them. Point black. But I find myself obsessing about Peeta Mellark daily. My husband finds this situation very sad. My family occasionally throws me this looks full of pity. I brush them away, thinking that my obsession kicks ass. Indisputably. **

**My name is Silvia, I am 26 years old and I am a fanfiction addict. They told me there is no cure for it. I do not mind.**

**As always, read and enjoy. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated, as it helps me improve.**

ℓ **erhea**

"Sorry!" the woman with blue hair and golden tattoos says, with what she likes to believe to be an apologetic smile.

"You are sooo hairy!"

I try to hide the smile that blossoms on my lips, turning my head to the side, while gripping the edges of the table.

When was the last time I smiled so much? These last couple of days will probably make my face hurt. Here I stand, about to enter the arena, where I am supposed to fight for my life, and I keep on grinning like a lunatic. I must have finally lost my mind.

"You poor thing! You are handling this exceptionally well" Flavius intervenes, while applying yet another layer of purple lipstick on his lips.

I close my eyes, letting my prep team work their magic on my body. Fortunately, they are almost done.

"Almost ready now and you don't look half bad!" Octavia gushes, while rubbing a white cooling lotion in my skin.

"Thank you" I whisper.

It is hard to take offence in anything they say. Once, long ago, I thought they were idiots. But now I know better. They are innocent, more ignorant that they should be, not being able to tell the difference between right and wrong. But that's not their fault. Their hearts are in the right place, and their love and loyalty once given can never be lost.

The door opens, soon after the prep team left, and a young man enters. He's still as natural and young as I remember, a breath of fresh air amongst the absurd style used by the Capitol's citizens.

"Hello Katniss. I am Cinna, your stylist" he says, voice unaffected by the ridiculous accent used by those who were born here.

"Hello"

"Give me a moment, ok?" he then looks at me, analyzing, and inspecting each inch of my skin.

He notices my torn expression and misinterprets its meaning.

"How utterly despicable and shallow we must seem to you…"

"It's not that." I hurriedly interrupt him.

"No matter..."

"NO! Is it a coal miner outfit we must parade in or…" I babble, gesturing to my naked body.

He chuckles, a little relieved.

"Not exactly."

"About your costume for the opening ceremony. Portia, my colleague – your district male tribute's stylist, and I, we want to do something special. Tell me, Katniss, are you afraid of fire?"

I smile.

"I want you to stand up from the public", he continues with a dreamy look on his face. "So rather than focus of the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on coal. And what do we do with coal? We burn it!" says Cinna.

"Katniss, the Girl on Fire"

I trust him, as I already know that the fire he talks about is harmless.

He hands me a black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny black leather boots that lace up to my knees and a fluttering cape made of streams of orange and yellow and red with a matching headpiece complete the costume. They are going to be lit on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets. Cinna applies a subtle makeup, just enough to underline my features. And then we go to the rally point.

I spot Peeta, dressed in a matching suit, looking a little nervous, probably because of the fire.

"What do you think?" I ask him.

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine" he answers through gritted teeth.

"Deal!" I reply, grinning.

"Where is Haymitch anyway? Shouldn't he have something to say about this" he asks.

"With so much alcohol inside him, it's probably not safe to have him around open fire"

And then we laugh, as if we had no care in the world.

The music starts, giving us the signal that the parade is about to start. I grab Peeta's hand, feeling a spark of recognition, of something more going through me, from head to toes. His eyes meet mine and then they soften. I feel heat rising through my cheeks, and I know I am blushing, but we have no time, as Portia sets us aflame.

The crowd's cries of horror turn into ones of admiration, as we appear, united, surrounded by fire. An act of rebellion, even though they do not _see_ it. District 12 and our names are on the lips of all those present in the City Circle and I do not need to look to the screen to know that our smiling faces are stealing the parade.

As we make our way back, minutes, or is it hours later, to the Training Center that will be our home for the next few days, I realize that my hand is still clutching Peeta's. I release it, hesitantly.

"Thank you for not abandoning me", he said, "I was a little unsteady for a while".

"Really? I'm sure no one noticed".

"Because they only had eyes for you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you."

He smiles so softly, a little shy, and I find myself blushing again. I stand on my toes and kiss him on the check.

Portia and Cinna join us for dinner.

Effie is in a grand disposition this evening. Her smile seems almost insane, as the greenish hue of lipstick that she decided to wear for today, completes her absurd apparel.

"I've been very mysterious today" she begins, while trying and failing to plaster a coy smile. "They" she continued, her eyes half closed in annoyance, while pointing at Haymitch, Portia and Cinna "did not dignify to share with me your strategy. But I've done my best with the scraps I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her little sister. How you both struggled to overcome the barbarism of you district. What cruel hand fate dealt yesterday while placing the two of you against each other, being friends and everything."

"What?" I splutter, dropping my glass of water on the floor, where it lands with a crash.

She waves her hand at me, dismissively, and calls for an Avox to clean the mess I made.

Peeta grows tense beside me, and I realize he must think that my reaction is due to the last statement. Was I not the one that told Haymitch that we were friends?

I grasp his hand with my right one, underneath the table. He slightly relaxes his stance, and watches my expression. I mouth to him one word, while raising my eyebrows in a silent inquiry. 'Barbarism?'

He shakes his head and smiles.

Haymitch clears his throat and I notice that everyone is watching us, a knowing look on their faces.

I release Peeta's hand immediately, as if burned by fire.

'Oh, let them have their frigging moment.' I internally think, while taking a spoonful of lamb stew. It tastes heavenly.

"Everyone has their reservations, of course" Effie continues, obvlious to the exchange she missed. "With both of you being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns into pearls!'" Effie beams at us so brilliantly that we have no choice but stifle our groans, bite our lips, and respond enthusiastically to her cleverness even though it's wrong.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch.

"It just happened" I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," says Haymitch. "Very nice."

And this is all the insight that I needed to realize that Haymitch is already involved in the looming war. Rebellion. A careless word thrown at dinner, in the present company. They are all involved.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I wan you to play it. Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

Peeta and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms. He stops me before I enter mine.

"Are we really friends Katniss?"

"Of course" I scoff without hesitation.

His hand rises to my forehead, brushing an errant strand of dark hair behind my ear.

"Goodnight Katniss" he says, before entering his room and closing the door.

"Goodnight Peeta" I whisper to the now empty corridor.

I close the door behind me, kick off my shoes and climb under the covers in my clothes. It's almost midnight.

As the clock strikes twelve, I leave my chamber and sneak on the roof. This is the moment I absolutely dread. This is the moment I refused to previously think about. The moment when I find out what happened with my companions. Will he be there? Waiting for someone to arrive? Or will I be greeted by silence and the always shining lights of the Capitol.

My pace grows faster, almost skipping the last few stairs.

He is here, back turned to the door, hands stretched over the railing, observing the agitation from below. The streets were full of people celebrating the start of the games.

"Plutarch Heavensbee" I whisper, my voice raspy and strong, but not reaching him due to the wind that howls. I slowly raise my hand, to brush the locks of hair that stubbornly insist in obstructing my view.

He turns slowly, setting his eyes on me.

"Katniss Everdeen. It is true then…" he whispers. Reverently.

"Plutarch Heavensbee" I repeat, my voice filled with hope.

"President Coin speaks very highly of you" he continues. "I do not think I ever heard her talk like this of anyone else. She sounded almost excited."

I laugh. Alma made it! The frustrating, maddening, extremely annoying woman actually made it!

Plutarch's eyebrows rise to his hairline as he waits for my laughter to subside.

"How much do you know?" I ask, once I regained the ability to carry a normal conversation.

"Enough."

I look into his eyes, narrowing mine in defiance; preparing myself for the resistance I will surely encounter as my next words leave my lips.

"I want Seneca Crane in," I firmly state. "He can be swayed to our side."

"Crane? He's Snow's lapdog!" he spats, face contorted in horror.

"Yes, but out of fear and obligation. Look. I know this is not part of the plan. But he is the Head Gamemaker and he can be of use."

"And how do you suppose we can convince him?" he retorts, voiced laced with anger.

"He has a wife and two daughters. Grant them sanctuary. Smuggle them to thirteen. When the games end, help him disappear. Snow will kill him otherwise."

"This could work." He nods to himself, mouth set into a determined line.

"In the arena, I need water, food and a first aid kit. There should also be some burn cream and pain relievers inside. Put them into an orange backpack, to the left of the Cornucopia."

"With Crane's help it shouldn't be an issue." Plutarch says.

"And also, I will need you not to put a bow and arrows in the games. The price for them should remain low for the first day. Haymitch will send me that along with a set of knifes."

"Did you talk to him? Haymitch?" he curiously inquires.

"Not yet, but soon. When the time is right."

"Is that all?"

I shake my head.

"Listen. Crane needs to do this the right way. It has to be credible. Otherwise it will not work. Don't cut me some slack. Send in the fire, the careers, the mutts. Just don't program the fucking beasts to kill us. And the rule change should happen no matter what. Both times. "

"You really are as stubborn and ruthless as Coin said, aren't you?" he smirks, a smile on his face.

"Ruthless?" I bitterly laugh. "Ruthless? That's a word more fitted for the Capitol and its brainwashed cattle." I say, while stretching my hands and gesturing around in annoyance. "I just want to live in a world without having to look over my shoulder in fear every day. And I will do whatever it takes for that to happen."

"Maybe we will live to see it. Your world without fear."

"We will."

"If that is all, I can honestly say it was an honor to meet you, Girl on Fire." Plutarch continues, hand extended for me to shake.

I nod, accepting the gesture, sealing the deal. The first of many to follow.

I remain on the roof for several moments longer, gazing at the unsuspecting world bellow. The Capitol's supremacy days are numbered and the clock is ticking away.

The odds are certainly in my favor.


End file.
